


Everything is Blue

by ab2fsycho



Series: Revolve [24]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Emmy's back back back, M/M, back again gain gain, guess who's back back back, hi it's midnight thirty and i'm posting this, people in the hospital, previous violence and stuff, tell a friend friend friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hershel receives quite a few visitors in the hospital, some of whom refuse to leave until he wakes up. Others are quite unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything is Blue

Beep.

Tick.

Beep.

Tock.

How could the clock and the machines be so in sync?

Beep.

Tick.

Beep.

Tock.

Was time slowing?

Beep.

Tick.

Or speeding up?

Beep.

Tock.

Was it mocking him?

Beep.

Tick.

Was he so mad that he now thought time was mocking him?

Beep.

Tock.

It didn’t seem possible.

Beep.

Tick.

And yet it didn’t seem impossible either . . . .

Beep.

Tock.

Des stared longingly at the professor’s face, waiting for a sign that he was awake. Or alive. He couldn’t trust the machine, machines had proven to be untrustworthy many times in the past. He needed an open eye. A small hand gesture. A movement of some sort. He needed it.

He needed him.

Don Paolo had taken Flora home. Raymond had waited a little longer, making certain Des didn’t do anything drastic. Then he had left.

Des refused to leave even when the nurses insisted he go.

He was not going to close his eyes until Layton opened his.

Usually a nurse knocked, entered, went about checking vitals and ignoring him, then departed. He didn’t pay them much mind other than to acknowledge he and Layton were no longer the only ones in the room. The other hospital bed was empty. If he wasn’t so desperate to get a sign of life out of Layton that wasn’t the tubes and needles sticking out of the professor, he might have declared the bed for himself despite there being a possible new patient who might need such a bed.

But Des was desperate.

He needed Layton.

“Please,” he uttered. Someone knocked. “Please,” he uttered again. Someone knocked again. His brow furrowed and he directed his attention to the door. “Oh please,” he grunted, suddenly wildly frustrated with the nurse who apparently had forgotten how to turn a knob. “It’s open.” There was a pause after his declaration, just audible enough for the individual to hear.

But then . . . .

Another bloody knock.

Des huffed, then stood up quickly. He moved to the door, damn near jerking it open in his frustration with the person interrupting his red eyed staring at the immobile professor. The door opened—

THWACK!

It had been quite some time since he had experienced a boot to the head. This boot in particular? He couldn’t recall if it had ever actually connected. It was certainly connecting now.

His glasses shattered, as did his nose. He landed hard on his tail bone and hit his head against the leg of the empty hospital bed. He let out a startled cry, then flinched as a smaller hand yanked him up by one wrist and dragged him across the floor. His shoes squeaking against the linoleum as something metal circled his exposed arm and clicked shut. His suspicions over the identity of the person currently handcuffing him to the restroom door were confirmed as soon as they spoke.

As soon as she spoke.

“Good evening Professor Sycamore,” she declared. “Or shall I say good morning? It is way past your bedtime.”

“Emmy, what are you doing?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” The second half of the cuff clicked shut around the doorknob, his body limp on the floor as he dangled by his wrist from the handle. “We made an agreement, Professor,” she declared as she dusted her hands off on her yellow clothes. “And you’ve made quite the mess this time.”

She was upset. His vision was blurry, but he could see and hear clearly enough to know she was upset. No doubt because the professor had been hurt. For that . . . he blamed himself entirely. “I can explain—”

“You had better, and you had better do it quickly.” She kicked at one of his feet. “Still wearing those same shoes? Still leaving those same footprints?” She made a discontent harrumphing sound. “You were one step short of writing your name in the debris of that place, and those so-called lawmen had no idea. Ridiculous.”

“How did you come to be he—?” he stopped.

“Don’t answer my demands with another question, you have some explaining to do.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore. “Hello?” He was staring behind her. “Are you listening to me? Anyone in that head of yours at all?”

“Hershel,” was the only word that spilled from Des’s lips.

Emmy turned around to see the professor, eyes open and palm raised.

His vision was no longer blurry simply because of his lack of eyewear.

(:)

Desmond sat with a kerchief blocking his bleeding nose and his newly uncuffed hand clasping Layton’s palm. Layton was tired, but to his knowledge he was doing much better. He had explained what he could to Emmy in what little breath he had had later that morning.

Under the condition that she release Desmond of course.

She stared at their joined hands and apologized for having assumed so quickly. He accepted her apology. It simply wasn’t in him to deny her that, though she had acted quite unladylike as per her usual behavior.

It was good . . . to know that Emmy had not quite changed.

Only, she had changed one thing.

“I understand . . . you are now a Mrs. Grosky?” Desmond asked for Layton. The man had no problem speaking for the professor, and the professor was content to listen more than ask the questions and do the prompting. The two professors were similar enough that they could almost predict what the other wanted to know and was going to ask.

Desmond squeezed Layton’s hand so much harder than he had anticipated. That didn’t detract from Layton’s want to squeeze back harder. He could not unfortunately. He was doing the best he could with what little strength he had.

“I am,” Emmy said. “And he is a Mr. Altava.”

The older professor nearly snorted, but managed to stop due to the condition of his nose. “That is very fitting. I had heard he divorced, had never known he remarried.”

“We were doing business enough that the relationship happened naturally.” She then changed the subject back to the one she seemed more interested in. “Which means I should probably look over the police reports of what happened before officially carting you to jail.”

Layton hummed, and Desmond spoke for him again. “You will find that Layton was taken captive, and injured while attempting escape.”

Emmy too made a noise implying she was thinking. “That much is obvious, but there were more footprints surrounding him than could be explained.” Some of which having been Desmond’s.

They weren’t about to reveal Flora, Raymond, and Don Paolo to her. Layton at least got the impression that she knew there was more to it than that. Emmy of all people would know that ignorance is bliss and that keeping quiet about details of accomplices was necessary. “Perhaps some Targent members left him for dead.” Layton nodded along with this once. Though it was not in him to lie, this was a situation that clearly required . . . discretion.

The quirk of Emmy’s lips told him she was in full agreement and would question no further. “I . . . have wanted to see you again, Professor Layton. For . . . quite some time.” But due to a promise she and Desmond had made, she had withheld fulfilling that desire. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss our adventures.”

Layton reached out and patted one of her hands before slowly withdrawing his palm and closing his eyes. He sighed, then allowed Desmond to take over once more. “We . . . wanted you to live a life free of our . . . situations.” Layton opened his eyes to see Desmond looking to Emmy for approval of his statement, the elder’s face hidden by the kerchief. Emmy nodded.

Emmy nodded. “I . . . I don’t think we ever wanted our reunion to look quite like this.”

Layton nodded once again. He sighed again.

As the conversation continued, he kept his eyes closed. He listened to the sounds of their voices and noises made by the machines and monitors. He hummed and sighed every now and then, but did not mind that they continued to speak over him. He was tethered to them through their voices.

And through Desmond’s hand.

Desmond didn’t let go of him for one instant.


End file.
